


Dessert de Partie

by saltyavocado



Category: Life with Derek
Genre: F/M, Food Metaphors, Millennial Anxiety, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyavocado/pseuds/saltyavocado
Summary: "I'm never gonna find anyone who will put up with me," Casey says mournfully."Oh, shut the fuck up," Derek says.





	Dessert de Partie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falsettodrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/gifts).



For most of her last two years of college, Casey dated (rather seriously) a physics major named Isaac, who dumped her exactly twelve hours after receiving word of his acceptance into a graduate program in Hawaii. Casey finds herself more upset about losing out on the prospect of moving to Hawaii than she is about the relationship itself, which is probably fairly telling. 

"Who goes to Hawaii to study physics?" Derek asks, more of a rhetorical question, as he leans against her open freezer, eating ice cream straight out of the carton. 

"The University of Hawaii at Mānoa has a robust nuclear physics program - "

"I thought you went there to study like, astrology and shit," Derek interrupts, as if she hadn't even spoken. "With the big telescope."

"It's _astronomy,_ " Casey corrects. "Astrology are your star signs, and it's not an actual field of science."

Derek leaves the spoon dangling out of his mouth and shrugs elaborately, his shoulders hitching up to his ears. The exaggerated look of confusion on his face makes him look a little like George whenever Casey's mother forces him to watch Game of Thrones with her. 

Casey reaches over and snatches the ice cream carton. "There's a NASA observation facility on Mauna Kea, which is probably what you're thinking of, but that's a completely different island and also, you're supposed to feed _me_ the ice cream, idiot."

"I was warming it up for you," Derek says, pushing the freezer shut with his knee. 

"Also, I'm just saying, I don't think it counts as comfort if I bought the ice cream myself."

"You didn't tell me to bring ice cream in your text!" Derek protests. "All you said was 'please come over before I jump out of my window,' which out of context was kind of _alarming,_ Case - "

"I was being facetious," Casey says glumly, digging into the ice cream with her entire arm, trying to dislodge a particularly large chunk of chocolate. 

"Well maybe next time you send me some casual suicidal ideation you could clarify your fucking tone beforehand," Derek says. He rolls his eyes and bats her hand away, and digs the chunk out himself. "Here."

Casey takes the offered spoon, tearing up just a little at the gesture. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare cry," Derek warns, face twisting in disgust. "If you cry I'm leaving."

"I'm not crying," Casey says, wiping a tear away. 

"Stop it," Derek says sternly. "Save that shit for Emily or Liz. I'm strictly here for the angry part and nothing else."

"Okay," Casey says tearfully, and shoves the spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She almost chokes on it. 

Derek sighs, long-suffering and mournful. "Alright," he says, tugging at her arm. "Fine. One hug, and that's all you get, I swear to God - "

"I'm not crying," Casey says again, sniffling pathetically. She dives into the hug gratefully, pressing her cheek against the sharp angle of Derek's collarbone. He must have come straight from work because he still smells like a kitchen - a mishmash of herbs and oil and grilled meat. Isaac never smelled like anything but deodorant, because he drenched himself in it right before he'd come to see her, which Casey used to think was considerate and kind of sweet. She kind of feels like punching herself in the face, just a little, thinking about it. 

"Asshole," Derek says, rocking her back and forth a little as they hug, Casey still perched on the kitchen stool, her face smushed into his shirt. "I told you he was a jerk. Didn't I tell you?"

"You think everyone I date is a jerk," Casey mumbles.

"Because you date jerks," Derek says, pushing her back a little. Casey lets him, grateful beyond words for the concession, turning her face away so he doesn't see that her tears are actually worse now. Not that she has much hope to fool him - he has an almost psychic sense for tears, like a dog who starts to growl whenever a storm is approaching. "C'mon. You didn't _really_ want to follow this guy to Hawaii."

"There was a writing residency in Honolulu that I - "

"No," Derek interrupts, shaking his head. Casey wipes her face, and takes a deep breath, and concedes the point with a nod. "You want to take that offer from the Grand Theatre and work for a few years while you save up for an MFA."

"I mean that was my rough plan," Casey says weakly. 

"Meaning you can change it if you find something better, not uproot your entire life to move halfway around the world," Derek says, unapologetic. "To an _island,_ no less. Where the hell were you gonna work? You would've ended up waiting tables in some hotel bar while you waited for him to drag his ass out of the lab every night and you know it."

"That's fairly cynical," Casey argues, feeling her shoulders straighten a little at the bluntness. "But I guess - I mean I knew it would be a risk, so you're probably right."

"I am right, and you are better off, but that doesn't mean he wasn't a fuckwad about it," Derek says, tugging on her arm again. "All around, I'm unimpressed."

Casey lets herself be led, grabbing the ice cream before Derek can snatch it up himself. "Do you really think so? I mean, I know you didn't get along with him but he really was very smart, and - "

"He wore mismatched socks," Derek says, leading her firmly into her cramped, yet comforting, living room. "On _purpose._ "

"He plays the guitar!"

"So does every other 21-year-old doofus on this campus."

"He thought my lists were cute," Casey says sadly. 

"More evidence of his imbalanced judgment, clearly - "

"I'm never gonna find anyone who will put up with me," Casey says mournfully. 

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Derek says, and pushes her down onto the couch. "Don't say another word. We're going to watch Big Brother and not talk about this anymore."

Casey balances the somewhat melty ice cream on one knee, still sniffling a little. "If you really cared about cheering me up, you'd let me watch a Jane Austen movie," she accuses.

Derek flops down next to her, looking unimpressed. "And watching Victorian people fall in love is supposed to make you feel _better?_ "

"It's _Regency_ era," Casey says. 

"What _ever,_ " Derek replies, grabbing the remote. "Just eat your ice cream, you lunatic."

Casey scowls at the side of his head and shoves another spoonful in her mouth. A valid point, sure. Not that she'll ever admit it to him. 

 

 

 

 

Derek is graduating by the skin of his teeth with a terrible GPA, which he doesn't seem all that concerned about, to Casey's extreme frustration. Two years ago, he got a part time job bussing tables at a five-star Greek restaurant on Princess Street, and to everyone's surprise, stayed in Kingston over the summer to go full-time. He was a waiter by the end of the summer, then a prep cook, and after making friends with the owner - a boisterous, slightly misogynistic old man named Alec - transferred to another fancy restaurant by the bay, a bar and grill, gastropub-style spot with forty dollar entrees and a huge wood-burning brick oven Derek wouldn't shut up about for months. He's already a chef in a functional sense, and Casey knows it'll be official as soon as he finishes up the last of his classes and can go full time again. In context, it's sort of impressive that he's bothering to finish at all. 

It doesn't surprise anybody that Derek found something like this to get passionate about - high stress, fast pace, an industry full of alcoholics and adrenaline junkies - but he still could have gone about it in a more responsible way, is all she's saying. There are plenty of culinary programs in the area - he could've transferred. 

"And lose my financial aid?" was his excuse at first, followed by, "culinary school is a scam, everyone knows that Case," and "I'm already mostly done with this one, who cares," and finally, after months of needling, the real reason: "my mom won't pay off the loans unless I finish the degree." Casey's not sure George even knows about that little agreement, judging by how hard he and her mother have been lobbying Derek to pick one or the other and commit, so she's been keeping her mouth shut. In theory, she knows why, but in practice she's not sure Abby really understands the choice she was forcing Derek into. 

Regardless, he did finish, which Casey can't see as a bad thing, necessarily. All in all, he's got more of his life together than anyone else their age she's ever met - he even got a new car, and he's talking about buying a condo, of all things - so it's hard to criticize. Especially when Casey herself can't even see past the next six months of her own life without getting dangerously close to a panic attack. 

"I want to travel," she says to Lizzie, "but is it responsible to waste the immediate post-graduation year just messing around in Europe or wherever? Statistically speaking, those first six months are when most graduates make their most useful, lifelong professional contacts."

"That sounds sort of made up to me, but I don't know enough to contradict you," Liz says skeptically. "Case, if you want to travel you should. Just find a grad program in Italy or France or something and just go! What's stopping you?"

"Money," Casey says instantly. "Professional career trajectory. Debilitating anxiety. A fear of long-haul flying which has only gotten _worse_ since that disastrous trip to Costa Rica three years ago - "

"Oh my God," Lizzie says, and covers her face with both hands. 

"You're really not helping, you know," Casey says. "You're supposed to say something reassuring like 'there's plenty of time to pursue your dreams, Casey, you don't have to decide everything right now!'"

"Isn't that kind of what I just said?" Lizzie asks blankly.

"No!"

"Okay, pretend that's what I just said then," Lizzie says. 

"Isaac and I were planning a gap summer in Portugal," Casey says sadly. 

"Casey, please tell me the only reason you dated him wasn't because you were hoping he'd take you cool places."

"Ugh, no. Shut up," Casey says. 

Anyway. The most hopeful Casey feels nowadays is when she's planning her move, to a cute, somewhat affordable studio apartment in the same neighborhood as the theatre she'll be managing social media for - a balcony _and_ a bathtub _and_ off-street parking _and_ on-site laundry. Not exactly a responsible, grown up condo, but whatever. Casey is on her own path, just like Derek is on his, she refuses to compare. Out loud, anyway. 

For her graduation, Nora and George give her a new couch - which would be awesome if Casey hadn't literally just bought one the other day, so now she has _two_ mid-priced ugly sofas - and Lizzie and Edwin and Marti all pitch in to buy her a bike. "Because you said you wanted to work out more," Marti says, blinking her eyes a little too quickly. It's sweet, kind of. 

("Do you even know how to ride a bike?" Derek asks, sotto voce at the dinner table. Casey kicks him in the thigh.)

Derek doesn't buy her anything but he does rent a truck to help her move, and strong-arms five of the beefiest waiters from the grill to help, which is a bigger gesture than Casey was expecting. Even if he does sit on the curb and smoke the entire time instead of helping. 

Casey spends moving day in a tightly-wound state of emergency, trying in vain to corral the waiters - most of whom speak only in French - into some kind of order. Around 2 PM she finally gives up the ghost and collapses on the grass next to Derek, who is blithely playing Words with Friends on his cell phone. 

"Just relax," he advises. "They won't break any of your stuff. I'm sort of their boss, remember?"

"Did you tell them not to speak English whenever I'm in the room?" Casey accuses. Derek shrugs noncommittally. "I cannot believe there are so many French-Canadians at _one_ restaurant, it has to be a conspiracy."

"Twelve percent of Ontarians are native French speakers," Derek says. 

"You just made that up."

"No I didn't, Édouard told me," Derek says. 

"Who's Édouard," Casey asks tiredly. 

"He's my head waiter," Derek says, pointing out the tallest one of the bunch, a brunette-haired gym rat who'd introduced himself to Casey as 'Edward.'

"That's Edward."

"No, his name is Édouard, and he's very organized."

"He told me his name was Edward," Casey says. 

"Maybe he sensed your latent Francophobia," Derek says mildly. 

Casey lies down on the ground and covers her face with her arm, groaning loudly. 

"They speak English at work, but this is free time, Case, quit policing their language," Derek says, laughing a little when she tries to kick him. "Hey!"

"Why are you even here if you're not helping?" Casey asks. "Go away, you're giving me high blood pressure."

"You give yourself high blood pressure," Derek says, poking her shoulder, grinning companionably. With his hair curling in the early summer heat, and the ridiculous capris and peabody hats and colored sunglasses he's been wearing lately, he looks like a cross between a 1920s dandy and an extra from Mad Men. Casey hates his striped shirts with a passion. "What do you figure - one, two more trips?"

"If they can fit my bed frame in this load then probably just one, I can get the rest of the smaller boxes in my car tomorrow," Casey says, then snaps to attention. "Why?"

"You promised me you'd let me experiment in your kitchen," Derek reminds her.

"What - tonight?" Casey asks incredulously. "It's my first night, Derek - I haven't even slept there yet!"

"I'm trying to convince Bebe and Alec to let me make fried ice cream for the Friday night prix fixe," Derek insists. "They won't let me unless I can prove I can vary my recipe enough to fit each week's theme - it's like they've never heard of _sauces_ before - "

"You wanna fry stuff in my new kitchen?" Casey asks. She scowls at him. "I thought they were already letting you make the appetizers for that."

"They are, but nobody can come up with an interesting dessert," Derek says. "Frankie wants to make _soufflé,_ for God's sake."

"Hey, I like your soufflé," Casey says. 

"Yeah, but how many different types of soufflé can you make? Chocolate, white chocolate, fruit. Then what? This prix fixe thing is going all summer," Derek says. "It's either fried ice cream, or maybe some kind of torte - I thought about going really risky and making that Tahitian recipe that I made for Mom's birthday, but the last time I tried anything too _girly_ Alec threatened to stick me on the pizza oven again, so - "

"That mango pudding stuff?" Casey says dreamily. "Oh God, that was so good though."

"Anything but baked Alaska would be fine with me," Derek continues. "That's what they did last year. Some kind of food coloring was involved - edible glitter - _fuck_ that."

Casey sighs. "Isaac and I had baked Alaska at that beautiful restaurant in Ottawa last summer for our anniversary."

Derek glares at her, then reaches out and grabs a handful of dirt and drops it directly in her hair where it's spread out on the grass. Casey shrieks in outrage. 

"Next time it's going in your face," Derek says, unapologetic. 

"I hate you," Casey says, shaking her hair out. If she weren't already covered in sweat and dust she'd be _really_ mad.

Édouard/Edward, walking by with a box of Casey's dinner plates, snorts. "Vous ressembliez à un morse mourant," he says, brushing between them to the truck. 

Casey scowls after him. "Nobody asked you!" she says. "What did he say?"

"He said your hair looks prettier that way," Derek says carelessly. 

"Un morse avec problèmes nasaux," calls Édouard/Edward. 

"He wants to take you on a date," Derek says, waggling his eyebrows. 

"No he doesn't," Casey says glumly. 

 

 

 

 

Now that Casey is twenty-two and ostensibly an adult, she has somewhat of a routine for breakups: Phase A is Public Mourning, Phase B is Private Mourning, and Phase C is Closure (alliteration unintentional). To be fair, phases A and B do tend to get conflated, but in her defense, she and Isaac had been together for almost two years. That's a record for Casey, so far. 

She drives home to London for the weekend and gets blasted with Emily, which helps a little. Then on the morning after they run into Truman at Starbucks, who clenches his jaw and pretends he doesn't recognize them as he steams almond milk for their lattes. That helps a little more. 

"Em," Casey says, as they walk - it's more of a _sashay,_ but who's keeping track - back to the car, "did you bring me here on purpose?"

"I thought it might cheer you up," Emily says sweetly. 

"I will love you forever," Casey says solemnly. 

Two full days at home, lounging around the house and eating gummy worms with Marti does do wonders for her mental state, she'll admit. Marti at fourteen is distressingly tall, with all of Derek's bad habits and none of his good ones. What good habits she does have, Casey's pretty sure she picked up from Edwin, which is a scary thought. 

"Ew," Marti says, swiping through Casey's photo album with her thumb. "He's got a weird nose, anyway."

"Don't say that about people's noses."

"Why not? It's weird looking. Way too small for his face."

"Because it can have racial connotations," Casey explains patiently. Marti gives her a withering look and continues to swipe. "Please don't go too far, okay, there's more pictures on there then just of Isaac - "

"Oh my God," Marti sputters, "is that _Smerek?_ "

Casey snatches the phone back. "He sent that to me as a joke."

"And you _kept_ it?"

Oddly defensive, Casey shoves her phone into her pocket, as if Marti might forget once it's out of her immediate sight line. "It downloads it automatically, what?"

Marti just cackles. "How often does my brother send you bathroom selfies, Case?"

"He had a shirt on," Casey blurts automatically, feeling sort of itchy and weird, like she has a fever or something. "He was making fun of - with his shirt unbuttoned like that - it was an inside joke that we - you know what, never mind, you wouldn't understand it anyway - "

Marti claps her hand over Casey's mouth, cutting her off mid-babble. "No," she says, still grinning ear to ear, "you're right. I probably wouldn't - understand, that is."

"Right," Casey says, the word muffled by Marti's hand. 

"I'm very innocent in the ways of the world, alas," Marti says, releasing Casey's face so she can flutter her hands around her head dramatically. "Unlearn _ed_ in the shadowed activities between man and woman in the privacy of their campus apartment - "

"What! No! What!" Casey shoves Marti off the couch. She collapses into a heap on the floor, laughing hysterically. "You need medication - all of you do. This entire whacko family needs to be on antipsychotics, I swear to God."

Marti's head pops up over the side of the couch. "Maybe that's why Isaac didn't want you to come with him to Hawaii?" she suggests, widening her eyes. "He _sensed it._ "

"Hurtful!" Casey yelps. 

The ensuing pillow fights lasts almost forty-five minutes and claims two half-full water glasses and Nora's new lamp as victims. George barges in halfway through and banishes them to opposite corners of the house, his scolding undermined only a little when he grabs his own pillow and whacks them both on the head. 

"There," he says smugly, "now _I_ win."

"Dad, you're such a dork," Marti pronounces, and stomps off to her room. Casey, smiling sheepishly, smooths her static-ravaged hair out of her face and does the same. More quietly, though. 

PIllow fights aside, it is fairly relaxing, especially since Lizzie and Edwin both elected to stay on their respective campuses for the summer - which she feels only a little guilty admitting. The house feels imposingly large, with only Marti and Simon and her parents in it - though she's sure those two are loud enough and imposing enough on their own to make it feel full anyway, even when she's not here. 

On the morning she's due to drive back to Kingston, her mother takes her out for breakfast. Over eggs benedict and fancy coffee, Nora gives her an extremely involved pep talk that has Casey eyeing the exits like the commitment-phobe boyfriend in the first scene of a romantic comedy movie. 

"Just remember Case," she concludes, squeezing Casey's elbow, "to meet the right person, you have to keep trying. But that means you're gonna meet a lot of duds, too." She pauses, a pained grimace spreading across her face. "Like, a _lot._ But it'll be worth it one day, you meet the right one." She pauses again. "Probably."

"Thanks, Mom," Casey says dryly. "You're really making me want to get back out there."

"The 'you gotta kiss some frogs to find your prince' talk used to work on you, you know," Nora says, withdrawing her hand with a sigh. 

"So did Disney movies, but unfortunately I seem to have lost my taste for princess stories altogether," Casey says glumly. She pokes at the remnants of her eggs benedict: the hollandaise was sour, and the english muffin was soggy. Derek would've been appalled. "How many duds did you date before you met George again?"

"No comment," Nora says. She wags her fork at Casey. "You don't get to complain until you _marry_ one of the duds. That's a grown up rule."

"Ouch," Casey says, but she laughs a little, feeling only a little disloyal. "This pep talk just got a little mean, all of a sudden."

"Well, if princesses don't work anymore, then what we're left with is 'you're only twenty-two, get over it,'" Nora says, kicking Casey's ankle beneath the table. Casey kicks back lightly, grinning, cheered up despite herself. "Go to a club, drink some wine, date somebody hot and stupid for a few weeks. Ask Derek, I'm sure he knows someone suitable."

Casey wrinkles her nose. "Derek historically does not take it well when I date his friends."

"Then find something else regrettable and silly to do," Nora says, smiling conspiratorially. This, by contrast, actually is sort of encouraging, Casey is surprised to discover. "Take up a dangerous hobby. Do a poetry slam. Join an improv group."

"Oh God," Casey exclaims, covering her face with both hands. "I just had a really intense flashback to grade six theatre club."

Nora guffaws into one hand. "Maybe try a book club instead," she says. "More your style."

Casey perks up, the plot to _Jane Austen Book Club_ running on the ultra-fast-forward movie reel inside her head. "A perfect place to meet my next dud," she says. 

"That's the spirit," Nora says. 

 

 

 

 

The inspiration from her mom sends Casey into a month-long activity binge. In the span of four and a half weeks, she signs up and subsequently abandons two book clubs, a volleyball league, after-hours tutoring at the library (they want her to take a class first! And _pay them_ to do it! Casey's never been so scandalized) and three different singles-themed meetup groups, all of which have unbearably cheesy names. 

"Are you done yet?" Derek asks, somewhat patiently, after one spectacularly disastrous evening, a bowling night for a group named 'Social, Spirited, Sophisticated Singles.' "This whole desperate socializing thing is getting sad."

"There was _no_ indication, _none,_ that 'spirited' meant 'religious' on the Facebook event page," Casey insists. 

Derek clearly thinks he's being noble and restrained by not making too much fun of her, but his amusement can be seen from space, so she's not going to give him any credit. " _Sophisticated_ was sort of a red herring, I guess."

Casey sighs. "Is my food done yet?"

Derek frowns. "No whining in front of my steak. This is filet mignon, Case."

"I mean, _I'm_ the one who paid for it."

Derek blithely ignores her and continues stirring his super secret sauce. (Which is almost definitely just a spicy bearnaise, but Casey's content to let him keep up the fiction.) "If you're so hyped to go out on weird dates with boring people, why don't you just download Tinder?"

"I need to find a social circle," Casey says. "Especially since Monica and what's-her-name moved to New York, I barely know anybody in the city anymore, except for the people at work. And they're all married with kids." She sighs mournfully. "She takes _ages_ to return my texts now."

"Might have something to do with how you call her girlfriend 'what's-her-name'," Derek comments. He slides a steaming, fragrant plate next to her elbow and gently knocks his knuckles against her forehead. "Dinner bell. Moping is not a good pairing for steak. Get your chin off the counter."

Casey sits up straight, her mouth watering. "Is that _bacon_ in my asparagus?!"

"It's prosciutto, you _heathen,_ " Derek says. "It's good for you."

Casey takes a tentative bite, humming at him warily, and then immediately slams her eyes shut so he won't see her eyeballs rolling backwards into her head. 

"Oleic acid," Derek says, over-enunciating the syllables. "Good for your broken heart, Case."

Casey swallows, opens her eyes, and glares. "Way to rub it in."

"I was only half kidding," Derek says, joining her at the counter with his own plate. "Try the steak," he says, jostling her elbow. "Tell me if it's too spicy. I used a different kind of jalapeno."

Casey nibbles some more, desperately trying to keep her face neutral, but judging by the satisfied smirk that spreads across his face, she's as unsuccessful as ever. "It's alright," she says, shrugging one shoulder.

He grins. "Bingo," he says, and digs in himself. 

Casey's probably going to gain a thousand pounds if she keeps letting Derek do his work research in her kitchen, but it's hard to complain when she's getting experimental gourmet every night. Besides, he's gotten way better at remembering to load the dishwasher before he leaves. 

"You know what you _really_ need," Derek says. 

"I bet you're gonna tell me."

"You need to unfriend Isaac on Facebook," he says pointedly. He wags his knife at her. "And Instagram, too."

Casey buries her face in her wine glass and mumbles something noncommittal. 

"All those stupid Hawaii pictures are driving you batty," Derek says sagely. "Just cut the cord, Case. Block him too."

"But," she says, "if I do that then how am I supposed to rub it in his face when I get a new boyfriend?"

Derek grimaces deeply. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that out loud," he says. 

"It's how breakups _work,_ Derek," Casey says irritably. "You mope, you rebound, you post great selfies and mysterious pictures with handsome strangers, and the first person to drunk text loses. And I am _not_ going to lose this one."

"Wow," Derek says dryly, "that sounds super healthy."

"Oh, like you didn't do the exact same thing when Emily dumped you."

"That was different!" Derek scowls. "She dumped me for _Sheldon Schlepper._ "

"They're very happy, by the way," Casey says, smiling meanly at him. "They're thinking about getting a place together."

Derek rolls his eyes so hard his head actually moves, tilting to the side like the weight of his disdainful eyeballs is too heavy for him to stay upright. "I could've been playing poker with the hot waiters tonight, you know."

Casey scowls at him. "You suck at poker."

"I know, but they take pity on me. It was at Holly's place this week - and she has a _hot tub._ " Derek narrows his eyes at her. "You could come with me next Friday, you know. But only if you block Isaac and promise not to try and date anybody there."

Casey bites her lip, torn. "I don't wanna date your stupid friends," she says. 

"You _always_ date my stupid friends, and then I have to beat them up, and it's awkward," Derek says. "Come on. Take it or leave it."

"I'll block him on Facebook, but he stays on Instagram," Casey negotiates.

"But you have to unfollow him," Derek says sternly. 

"I could make my own friends, you know," Casey says breezily, chomping on a stalk of asparagus. "I don't need to go to your stupid work-friend's poker night."

"Édouard won't be there," Derek promises. "He thinks gambling is beneath him."

She sighs. "Will they get mad at you when I take all their money?" Casey asks. 

"No, they'll probably just make you pay for the beer," Derek says. 

 

 

 

 

Over the last four years, away from home and experiencing true, adult freedom for the first time, Casey has watched Derek move through dozens of social groups, picking them up and discarding them quicker than she could keep track of. Casey herself was content with Monica - her long-suffering, yet staunchly loyal roommate - and later, Isaac, but Derek was never one to be content with just what fell in his lap. When pressed, Casey might say she might possibly admire that about him, just a little. 

Still no surprise that he's settled into his social self with a group of kooky, fast-living French-Canadians. Derek fits perfectly in the right grey area between 'hipster' and 'jock' to attract a bunch of tightly-knit career waiters who consider sarcasm a gesture of affection. 

It is a surprise, however, that Casey herself fits in, too. Derek was right about the poker thing. Casey wins three hands and Jacques almost proposes marriage. 

"Sorry, I don't date poor people," Casey says, frowning exaggeratedly. Holly and Derek, who tapped out after the first hand, both howl with laughter. 

Jacques clutches his heart, leaning heavily against the table. "You _monster,_ that was my bus fare."

"Sleep on my couch, mon amor, you're way too blasted to face the bus," Derek says. Jacques, 6'3" with sleeve tattoos and a nasty-looking burn scar on his chin, immediately sprawls sideways across the chairs and curls up in Derek's lap. Holly chokes on her wine and waggles her eyebrows at Casey, who giggles at the display, despite herself. "Ladies, you're welcome as well. It gets real sexy in the living room whenever Jacques stays over though, fair warning - "

Holly shrieks, pushing back from the table. "Jacques!" She slaps his head, and Jacques retreats with a laugh, crawling off Derek's lap and retreating back to his own chair. "He tried to grope me again - Derek, hit him again. In the balls."

"I was trying to get you in the sexy spirit - ouch!" Jacques flinches when Derek slaps his forehead, in the same exact spot Holly had got him. "Hey, now - "

"You deserved that one," Casey says, shuffling the cards. Her own wineglass is suddenly conspicuously empty, and she holds it out at Derek with a pout. "De _rek._ "

"Oh my fucking God," Derek says, rolling his eyes heavenward and grabbing her glass. "Sure thing, your _highness,_ do you want your feet rubbed too?"

"I'm too wobbly to stand up, thank you," Casey says primly, going back to shuffling the cards. Derek grumbles a little, pushing back from the table to get her a refill. "Another hand? Anybody?"

" _No,_ " Jacques says through a loud groan. Holly snorts, draining her own glass and holding it aloft above her head, knocking it against the back of Derek's shoulder. He huffs and grabs it from her. 

"I think you've successfully established dominance, Case, why don't you take pity and let him keep his rent money," Derek says. 

"I don't know," Casey says, tilting her head, "I could really use some new shoes…"

"Derek," Jacques says, propping his chin in his hands and turning on some puppy eyes, just as Derek comes back to the table with two fresh wine glasses, "I see now why it took you so long to introduce this one. She's a real shark."

Derek hesitates, visibly taken aback. "Well, I - "

"Don't be stupid, Derek always dates sharks," Holly says, and Casey fumbles the cards suddenly. They flip to the table in a messy pile beneath her hands. "She's exactly his type."

Derek covers his eyes with one hand, and Casey grabs her wine glass desperately, burying her face in it.

"Should've known," Jacques says mournfully, shaking his head. "When he stopped sleeping with Charlotte and started up poker night again - "

Holly kicks him underneath the table, and Jacques shuts up so fast his teeth click. 

"Who's Charlotte?" Casey asks. 

" _No,_ " Derek says, to the table at-large. "No. Absolutely not."

"She's nobody," Holly says kindly, patting Casey's hand. "Just one of the part timers. Not _nearly_ as pretty as you."

"You never told me you were seeing somebody," Casey says accusingly. 

"Shut up please," Derek replies, and then glares at Holly. "Casey and I aren't dating."

"Ohhh," Holly says, sloshing her wine a little. She winks exaggeratedly. "Okay. Got it."

"No, really," Casey says, "we're not. We're situationally linked, that's all." That's the euphemism they came up with sophomore year, when they got tired of explaining that they weren't _actually_ brother and sister, and _yes_ there was a difference.

Derek winces. "That's - Case, that sounds way worse than you think it does."

"Situationally _linked,_ eh," Jacques drawls, guffawing. 

"Yeah, I was situationally linking this guy for awhile too," Holly says. "But turns out he was situationally linking like, three other girls at the same time, so now I just sleep with Édouard."

"I - _what?_ I _knew_ it!" Derek exclaims.

"Don't tell Bebe!" Holly says, clapping one hand over her mouth, cheeks flushed. "She's still mad at me about the thing with Cara - "

"Is _everyone_ at your restaurant sleeping together?!" Casey asks.

"Pretty much," Jacques says, drinking the last of the wine straight out of the bottle. "Except Alec, who is ace-sexual. Wait, that's not right."

"Asexual," Casey corrects.

"Right."

"No, he's just chaste," Derek says, shaking his head. "You know, like a monk. It's like a lifestyle choice."

"Alec's not a _monk,_ " Holly says, bursting into laughter. Leaning heavily against the table, she loses her balance briefly, pushing several of the playing cards off onto the floor. 

"I feel like we've lost track of this conversation somewhere," Casey says. 

"Oh! That reminds me," Jacques says, reaching deep into his pocket - fumbling only a little, "I brought mushrooms."

Derek groans out loud, and Holly tilts her chin up, blowing her hair away from her face. "Jacques," Derek says, "you asshole."

"What?" says Jacques. Holly snorts at him. 

Casey frowns. "Mushrooms? Like, for cooking?" All three of them turn their heads to stare at her, and it takes a full three seconds for it to click. "Oh. _Oh._ "

"Oh my God, you're so fucking cute," Holly says, in drunken delight. She turns to Derek, shoving him with her shoulder. "You should marry her."

Derek just covers his face with his hands again. 

 

 

 

 

Derek takes quite a while to invite her to poker night again (probably because Casey spends the next three days interrogating him about his psychotropic drug use), but it doesn't really matter since Holly snagged her phone number before she'd left the next morning while the boys were still asleep. They bond via text over being dumped - Holly's ex Cara was apparently a commitment-phobe who still managed to be extremely clingy - and it even turns out that they have friends in common, too. 

"Monica _Simons?_ " Holly exclaims. "Man, she was crazy! Didn't she run off to New York with her RA?"

"We called them 'CA's, which stands for _community_ adviser, but yes," Casey says. "Derek thinks I'm being closed-minded because she had tattoos."

Holly blows a raspberry at the sky. "Bad tattoos. She was loud and rude as fuck, and I'm pretty sure she was a conservative, too, which is super weird considering the tattoos. What was her name anyway?"

Casey shrugs. 

"The people you lose friends to," Holly says, shaking her head sadly. "Cara kept all of ours in the breakup. _Totally_ unfair."

Casey tilts her head. "Is that why you hang out with Jacques and Derek?"

Holly leans in, lowering her voice to a faux-whisper. "They never make me buy the booze."

"Ah," Casey says. 

Holly talks very fast but very articulately - a quality found in many good waitstaff-persons, according to Derek - and likes to gently bully people in the nicest way Casey's ever seen, and within the week she finds herself abruptly folded into a group of cheerfully rude friends who don't seem to care much one way or the other about how neurotic she is, which is a pleasant surprise. Derek, for all his grumping and grousing about sharing his friends with her, seems gruffly pleased with the development. 

"Just don't date any of them," he reminds her.

"You wish," Casey snaps, and blushes. He scoffs in her face and doesn't bring it up again. 

Eventually the misconception about her and Derek's 'linking' gets cleared up; Holly reacts with virtually no surprise at all, which makes Casey suspect that they're the subject of an ongoing joke. Well, she figures, it's not like she's not used to it by now. 

"So never," Holly says. 

" _No,_ " Casey replies.

"Not even in high school?"

"That would have been _more_ difficult," Casey sputters. "Seriously, we get this a lot - I know it can come off kind of romantic sometimes, but honestly it's just bickering because we know each other too well, not, you know, married bickering - "

"It's hilarious that _that's_ why you think people assume things," Holly says. 

"Then why did you assume it?!"

"Mostly because he kept looking down your top every time you leaned over to deal the cards," Holly says. Casey fumbles her cell phone and drops it straight into her bowl of leftover fettuccine alfredo. 

"That's," she stammers, "no, he didn't. Did he?"

Holly laughs and offers her a napkin, which Casey meekly takes. "He also talks about you a lot," she says. "Like, a _lot._ If that makes you feel better."

"It does _not,_ " Casey says, appalled. "Wait, do I do the same thing?" Her head is spinning. "Oh my God, is that why everyone always asked me if we were fighting when I missed one of his hockey games?!"

Holly laughs again. "You guys are such a trip," she says. 

 

 

 

 

It's not like Casey hasn't thought about it, but thoughts like that were often followed quickly by deep, profound embarrassment, and a somewhat shameful realization that she was more worried about Derek's reaction than their family's, should anyone ever find out about her very, very secret, super duper occasional _feelings._ Over the course of their four years at Queen's, they both fielded lots of questions and assumptions of varying degrees of rudeness, and Casey slowly built up a thick skin and a set of canned replies to the common questions. _No, he's not my brother, our parents got married a few years ago so I'm unfortunately confined to the same house as he is over the summer. Yes, he's single, and yes he will probably go out with you. No, I won't be offended. Really, I apologize for the incident at the party the other night - I get kind of protective. He got his heart broken recently, you know. No, not by me!_

Anyway. Derek never seemed to blink an eye; if anything he seemed to ignore it completely, which only solidified Casey's certainty that she was alone in her weird aberration (nothing, really - passing fancies, that's all) and then, of course, there was Isaac. Handsome, cultured Isaac, who was breathtakingly smart - the only man Casey's ever met who she really believed was _smarter than her_ , actually - but unassuming and a bit socially awkward, who took her to museums and libraries, and held her hand carefully and deliberately, like it was a privilege. 

Isaac was also the person who forgot to call whenever he was going to be late, and seemed profoundly uncomfortable whenever she got anxious (generally speaking, he'd leave the room until she calmed down, usually). Two years of occasional dates, long late-night calls, and a lingering feeling of disappointed expectation: _this is it? This is a serious relationship?_ Casey got swept up so quickly, and yet now that it's over, she can't seem to put her finger on why. The prevailing emotion during this particular breakup seemed to be a sense of outrage - the _gall_ of Isaac to dump her like that, to leave her behind! It's another embarrassing thing for Casey to admit - that she liked the idea more than the reality. Healthy, probably - but embarrassing. 

Derek, on the other hand, has always taken extra and excessive care to assure Casey of his reality. In retrospect, Casey thinks that most people expected them to detangle their lives at some point - if not at school then definitely afterwards - but they haven't, and she knows they won't. His presence in her life feels much more permanent than anything else she's ever dared to lean her weight against - and alongside that same instinct, the quiet knowledge that he'll have her back regardless of how or when she asks, is a creeping feeling of inevitability. 

If not then, why not now? And if not now, when? Casey wanders down to her kitchen on a cold Thursday night, her phone stuck in the waistband of her pajama pants and buzzing with Derek's continuing onslaught against her data plan (she truly does not understand the joke about the Bee Movie script thing, but he seems to find it absolutely hilarious) and opens her fridge. It's crammed full of leftovers - Derek's recipes, in various stages of experimentation. Casey picks one at random and opens it to discover a halfway eaten mini bundt cake with chocolate espresso ganache, which is her favorite, and Derek knows it's her favorite, which is why he left her the uneaten half of his share, and finds herself tearing up right there, barefoot, half dressed, mouth watering. 

She wants it, is the thing. Despite everything, she really does _want it._ And if Derek left her for Hawaii, she knows it wouldn't be outrage she would feel. More like terrible devastation, which is not the kind of thought you want to think when you're already crying and not wearing socks. 

Casey takes her bundt cake back to her room, and plugs in her phone, which is still buzzing periodically with Bee Movie texts. This is Derek's evil genius: he knows she won't turn it off, because she uses it as an alarm, and he also knows she's too paranoid to trust that the alarm will still ring if she turns off notifications, so she always keeps all the volume levels on high whenever she goes to sleep, hence: Bee Movie. Casey glares at it, rattling on her nightstand, and makes a decision. 

_MERCY,_ Casey texts. 

Derek texts back: _BARRY: Look at that. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime._  
ADAM: It's just a status symbol. Bees make too much of it.  
BARRY: Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it.  
(Barry waves at 2 girls standing a little away from them)  
ADAM: Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too?  
BARRY: Distant. Distant.  
POLLEN JOCK #1: Look at these two.  
POLLEN JOCK #2: - Couple of Hive Harrys.  
POLLEN JOCK #1: - Let's have fun with them.  
GIRL BEE #1: It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock.

"Oh my God," Casey says out loud. If he copy and pasted it into a single message and sent it, there's no way to stop it now. It's going to break it up into a million texts and her phone's going to be buzzing all night. 

_HATE YOU IMMENSELY,_ she sends. 

_BARRY: Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom! He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me!_  
(Slaps Adam with his hand to represent his scenario)  
GIRL BEE #2: - Oh, my!  
BARRY: - I never thought I'd knock him out.  
GIRL BEE #1: (Looking at Adam) What were you doing during this?  
ADAM: Obviously I was trying to alert the authorities. 

"I make very bad choices," Casey says, contemplatively, and settles in to eat her cake. 

 

 

 

 

"Tell me about Charlotte," Casey demands.

"No," Derek replies, and shoves a corn muffin in her face. "Tell me if this is dry."

Casey takes a bite, which practically melts in her mouth, and rolls her eyes. "It's perfect. I wanna know about Charlotte."

"Is this the post-breakup period where you try to matchmake everybody around you because you're overcompensating?" Derek asks skeptically. "Because that's not gonna work. She's a terrible person and also, she hates me."

Casey perks up a little. "She's a terrible person? Why?"

"She was cheating on somebody with me." Derek grimaces. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Derek! Oh my God, that's horrible, I'm so sorry - "

"No," Derek says again, and picks up the other half of her muffin, shoving it back in her face. "Not happening."

Casey chews obediently, considering her next move. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh I'm sorry, do you want to hear about my sex life now?" Derek asks. "Last time I told you I was sleeping with somebody you threw a pillow at my stove and almost burned the entire apartment down."

"Maybe because you don't seem to see much of a difference between a sex life and a _love life,_ " Casey says sourly. "When was the last time you actually invested in something other than your dessert menu?"

"Hello, I'm making appetizers right now," Derek says, rolling his eyes. 

"You know what I mean."

"I'm almost positive I don't," Derek says, and flips off the oven with a sharp flick of his wrist. "What do you wanna know? All the dirty details? I'm sure Holly's filled you in on the embarrassing, public displays of loathing - "

"She didn't," Casey interrupts, frowning. She shifts on her barstool uncomfortably. "She wouldn't."

"Well, I said I don't wanna talk about it, so don't make me talk about it. That's called 'respecting a boundary,' Case." Derek's expression is dark, clearly still irritated. "There's a two dollar therapy word you should understand."

"More like a therapy phrase," Casey says, softening her tone enough so that he'll see her silent apology. "Much more valuable than two dollars, too."

Derek blinks at her for a second, then sighs, leaning down against the kitchen island, his forearms so close to her hands that her fingers twitch. "Did you really block Isaac or did you just tell me you did?"

"That's not what this is about," Casey insists.

"Case."

"I blocked him," Casey says, biting her lip. "He's still following me on Instagram, though. He watches my stories all the time, and he DM'd me last week."

"Did you reply?" Derek demands. 

"No! No, of course not." She sniffs. "It was nothing, anyway. He sent me a link to a GoFundMe for his sister, I think he sent it to everybody he knows."

Derek just looks at her grumpily, and doesn't reply. 

"Holly really wouldn't have told me anything real. She's surprisingly discreet, you know."

"Oh, no, I know," Derek says. "You think the Grill would still be in business if we weren't? Like you said - everybody's sleeping with each other." He laughs. "Even Bebe and Alec are getting it on. They think nobody knows, but it's pretty obvious."

"Holly and Édouard," Casey says. "Max and Maxine, which I really don't understand at all, it'd be like if I dated a _guy_ named Casey, how they don't find that creepy is beyond me - "

"It's not creepy when it's really just about your ego," Derek says, smirking. 

She rolls her eyes. "Jacques and anything that moves." Casey grimaces. "And you and Charlotte. Bad end regardless."

"That not even counting whatever the fuck is going on with the busboys," Derek says, blithely ignoring her somewhat bad grace. "Yes, it's a hotbed of sexual tension, Case. Bebe keeps condoms in the back office for a reason, you know."

"That's disgusting."

"That's life, Case," Derek says, propping his chin in his hand. "Some of us like to enjoy it. You should try it sometime."

Casey looks at his forearms again, which are streaked with corn flour, his half-covered biceps, the scar on his chin, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. She never thinks about him as a particularly beefy, imposing guy - because he really isn't - but sometimes, up close like this, Casey feels like he could knock her out cold with just one word. "I enjoy my life."

"Prove it," Derek says, and hands her another muffin. Casey grins at him, and eats half of it in one bite. "Atta girl."

"Mmph," Casey says, coughing a little. 

"Sexy," Derek says dryly, pushing back from the counter, and Casey almost chokes to death. The one word - case in point. "Anyway, it's not all that different from any other workplace. We're just more intense about it. Probably because we work with so many knives."

Casey swallows, not without some difficulty. "You're really not going to tell me what happened with Charlotte, are you?"

"Do you _want_ to know?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrow like he already knows the answer. 

Casey takes another bite of corn muffin. 

"You can ask her yourself if you're really dying for the details. She'll be serving at the thing next week."

The restaurant is hosting a fundraising event for the mayor's reelection campaign and Derek's been put in charge of appetizers, a fantastically huge deal that could potentially launch his career for real, so of course he's been referring to it exclusively as 'the thing.' "You're not worried about that at all?"

"She's more afraid of the wrath of Bebe than she's mad at me," Derek says with a shrug. "You're still coming, right? She's been after us for the headcount."

"Of course I'm coming," Casey says with a scoff. "Do you still want me to come?"

"Casey," Derek says with a slow grin, "you know I can't go a single day without your biting commentary and charming, neurotic paranoia."

"So...that's a yes," Casey tries to confirm. 

Derek shrugs. "Do what you want, I'm not your boss," he says. 

 

 

 

 

The only person on Earth who knows about Casey's aberrational feelings towards Derek is Emily, who was told via text message one night when Casey was extremely, terribly drunk. This was, unfortunately, only a few weeks after Emily and Derek had broken up, which is another reason why Casey doesn't drink tequila anymore. Emily had forgiven her, though. Eventually. 

"My mom _did_ tell me to find something regrettable and silly to do," Casey says. 

"Not sure this is what she meant, babe," Emily says crisply. "Turn around, lemme see the back."

Casey turns. Emily oohs. 

"Very sexy," she says. "Derek likes a good back plunge dress."

"Really?" Casey cranes her head to look at herself in the little preview box of the Skype call. "It's not too much for this kind of thing? I don't wanna be obvious about it."

"How should I know? I've never been to a political fundraiser before." Emily's sprawled out on her bed in Toronto, Sheldon occasionally walking by in the background, holding a cell phone to his ear and talking loudly about penny stocks. He's some sort of financial person now - Casey's unclear on the details, other than the fact that he makes a stupid amount of money. "Did you shave your legs?"

"Em!" Casey blushes. "...yes."

Emily smirks. "You want some tips?"

"No!"

"Okay, but I have good tips," Emily says. "He's not as straightforward in bed as a lot of the guys you usually date. You kinda have to work at him a little to get him to - "

"Okay!" Casey squints her eyes closed against the mental pictures. "That's enough, I get the point. Maybe I should've called Holly."

"What point? There's no point," Emily says. "I mean maybe I'm a little concerned of how quickly you're moving with this, coming so soon after your breakup with Isaac, and I would remind you real quick that Derek isn't just _some guy_ you can fuck things up with and then move on from, but - "

"You think I'm gonna fuck it up?" Casey asks in dismay. "Oh. I mean, I probably will, but I was kinda hoping - at least not right away..."

Emily sits up a little, looking a little guilty. "I didn't mean it like that," she says. "I'm just saying - "

"I know it's fast, but - "

"No yeah totally, and I'm just worried that you're - "

"I get it, no I would be worried too! But I really think - "

"No, seriously?" Emily squeals a little. "Okay, but you have to - "

"Definitely," Casey says, and reaches out to shake the laptop a little so that the picture jiggles up and down - her and Emily's Skype version of a hug. Emily does the same, and for a few seconds they're both just shaking their computers around, giggling. (More like an internet version of holding hands and jumping up and down, maybe.) "Oh, I'm nervous. Do I look nervous?"

"Make sure you bring powder," Emily says. "Oh! And setting spray. Derek used to _hate_ it when I would rub makeup off on his face."

"You seem _really_ optimistic about my chances here," Casey says. "He could call me crazy and immediately call our parents to have me committed, you know."

"Derek? Nah," Emily says. "Worst case scenario is he makes fun of you for the rest of your life."

"Great," Casey says, her stomach dipping. 

"But in a nice way," Emily says, smiling sweetly. "He's got your back. You know that."

"Yeah," Casey says, a little more fondly. Her stomach doesn't lift back up, though. 

The only other person who might _suspect_ is Marti, but Casey thinks she's probably still under the impression that it's just a joke of some kind. And Lizzie - God love her - can still be charmingly naive about Casey's relationships, to the extent that she actually really thought, for the longest time, that she and Max really were "just studying" upstairs when nobody else was home. 

Sam probably knows, though. He and Derek are still friends, to the extent that they go out and get drunk about once a year whenever Derek visits home, and the last time that Casey saw him, he was a little unsettlingly perceptive about it. 

("So, you're not telling people yet?" he asked.

"Telling people what?"

"You know. _Telling_ people."

Casey plastered a smile on her face. "Sam, did I tell you I'm dating somebody? His name is Isaac. We're coming up on our one year anniversary next month and I'm so excited! His name is Isaac, by the way - my boyfriend. My boyfriend Isaac."

Sam just squinted at her. "Is that a code word? Are you being held against your will?"

Casey eyed the front door, on the other side of which Derek was standing within dangerous hearing distance. "No."

"Okay, Case." Sam patted her shoulder. "Good luck with the fam. Let me know if you guys need a cover story."

"We will - Isaac and I," Casey said. "Isaac, my boyfriend and I."

"Uh huh," Sam said.)

Needless to say, there's no one else to call for a third opinion, so Casey takes a deep breath, and considers herself in the mirror again. It really is a bit of an obvious dress, but - maybe not _too_ obvious, or if it is obvious then maybe Derek won't catch on at first that it's meant to be obvious _to him._ Casey used to think that Derek was maybe just a little bit prudish, the way he would avoid looking at her altogether whenever she was wearing anything that showed more skin than a nightgown - but after extensive painful talks with Emily, she knows that's not the case. Her options are then, thus: that Derek avoids looking at her because he doesn't want to get caught looking, or: he just doesn't look at her. 

Casey hopes for the former, but if it's the latter: well. She's been heartbroken many, many times before. She'll survive a real one, probably. 

 

 

 

 

The grill is all dressed up for the night, much like Casey herself, so she feels instantly at home. Holly greets her at the door, on host duty for the night, and pulls her aside by her elbow as she's walking her to her assigned seat, hissing in her ear. 

"You look so fuckin' sexy you're gonna _get it_ tonight mama _fuck yeah_ \- oh hello, Senator Appleby, good to see you! - Case, I swear to God if you don't call me tomorrow morning with an update my head's gonna explode - oh, Mrs. Roberts! You look lovely!"

"How's my eyeliner?" Casey hisses back, slipping into the section that's clearly been cordoned off for guests of the staff - she spots three different girlfriends, and poor Édouard, on his night off but still condemned to be at work anyway on Holly's behalf. 

"Beautiful. Sexy. Amazing. Édouard, be nice," Holly says, pushing their shoulders together. "Casey's very nervous, it's a big night for her. Speak English please."

"I speak English all the time," Édouard says blithely. Casey narrows her eyes at him. 

"Derek'll be out in a few with the appetizers, Bebe wants to introduce him." Holly squeezes her shoulder. "And he'll probably take you back to the kitchen later, after the speeches. Good luck."

Casey smiles weakly after her friend, feeling a little forlorn as she zips away, left only with Édouard for friendly company (semi-friendly, anyway). She looks over at him and attempts another smile, but he grimaces and looks away. 

"Thank you again for helping me move," Casey tries. 

Édouard shrugs. "Derek paid me a hundred dollars," he says. 

Casey sighs, and looks desperately around for someone to take her drink order. 

With a little liberal application of white wine, the first hour or so goes fairly smoothly; Casey makes friends with a girl named Gabby who's apparently dating Bebe's niece and wants to get into politics. They bond over trying to identify all the minor celebrities in the room, while Édouard sulks and makes faces at Holly from across the room. 

"He plays for the Leafs," Casey says. "Some sort of point forward guard linesman person. Or something."

"Right," Gabby says, grinning. "And that girl next to him - wife of Councilman Heathers, that guy who co-authored the parking fee bill last year."

"Oh, that dumbass thing? Ugh, that law is the reason I had to learn how to ride a bike," Casey says. 

"Bebe invited her so I could corner her later after the salad course," Gabby confides. "I was in the same sorority as her in school; she's pretty sure I could angle for an internship, if she gets tipsy enough."

Casey recoils a little. "Are you a Conservative?"

"Fuck no. But they pay more than the Liberals, and I got bills," Gabby says.

Édouard snorts. 

"Something to add, Eddie?" Gabby asks, a little meanly. 

"I think I hate this city and everyone in it sometimes," Édouard says. 

"Well, that sounds like a personal problem, buddy," Casey says. 

Their server is the mysterious Charlotte, whom Casey tries to observe closely without being obvious that she's observing, which she of course bungles comically. Eventually she is replaced by Jacques, who laughs at her with his eyes as he serves her Derek's long-suffering, over-planned appetizer. 

"What?" Casey hisses. 

"Nothing," Jacques whispers. "We're just all rooting for you, slugger," and Casey sort of feels like melting right into her dinner plate, right there. 

She doesn't actually _see_ Derek until halfway through the mains, which is some sort of deconstructed pot roast thing that Casey's not all that interested in, but everybody else in the dining room seems to be in love with. A flash of black and white out of the corner of her eye, and Casey jerks her chin up, catching sight of him in the hallway that leads to the kitchen, talking to Bebe in a corner. He's got his fancy work clothes on - the white coat thing that they have to wear for the big nights - but it's half unbuttoned, and one of Casey's old scarves is tied around his head like a headband. Her heart contracts suddenly, her breath catching: he'd told her the other day that he was gonna wear a good luck charm, but he wouldn't tell her what it was. 

"Is that him?" Gabby whispers, leaning over. "You're his plus one? He's cute."

"Yes, but no," Casey says, "but yes. It's complicated."

Gabby pats her shoulder. "The back plunge is a good move then," she says kindly, and turns back to her pot roast. 

Derek doesn't catch her eye, or even glance in her general direction, but he does tug at her scarf as Bebe introduces him at the podium, darting back behind the other chefs as the crowd claps politely. Casey spots him creeping back towards the kitchen while Bebe and Alec are still complimenting each other on the microphone. Holly, over by the other waiters at the edge of the dining room, catches her eye and mouths something Casey can't make out, and Derek follows the interaction, finally catching sight of her. Darting to the side, he instantly ducks behind a pillar so he can make a face at her without the crowd seeing. 

Casey grabs her wine glass and takes a long, exaggerated drink, draping her arm over the back of her chair dramatically. When she comes up for air, Derek is grinning, still hiding behind the pillar, his hair curling wildly around the boundary of her scarf. 

" _So_ cute," Gabby whispers. Édouard buries his face in a highball of whiskey and pointedly ignores them. 

Casey sticks one of the menus - Derek's name in _just_ as big of a font as everyone else's! - for George and Nora, and finishes the rest of her wine for real, shaking her head at the waiter when he offers her a refill. She doesn't want to be _completely_ out of her faculties for this. Just a little bit is enough. 

She doesn't see him again until the end of the night, when Bebe brings the chefs out again for one last standing ovation. The second half of the reception is a bit of a jumble, and Casey loses track of Gabby as she quickly darts over to snag her conversation with Mrs. Bike Fee. Édouard stays put, however, and Holly quickly joins them, pressing a friendly kiss against his cheekbone which seems to melt just a little of his ice. 

"Derek's in the back," she says with a grin. "He helped set up so he doesn't have to stay for clean up. If you catch him now you can head off Charlotte - she had that _look_ in her eye again."

"Thanks," Casey says, and quickly grabs her purse. She's been going to hockey games for years; she may not know the terminology, but she can recognize an opening towards the goal when she sees one. 

Derek's smoking out on the back patio, predictably, and is a little bit tipsy - also predictably. He grins like a clown when he sees her, tearing away from his conversation with a tall skinny guy in a waiter uniform to hold the door open, so she can step out. 

"Nice dress," he says, looking her up and down. Casey shivers. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Holly told me they were turning away anyone who didn't look slutty enough," she says. 

"Fair." If he has any other reaction to the Back Plunge, he doesn't show it. "Case, this is Robbo. He's new. Robbo, don't hit on this woman under any circumstances, ever, or I will dunk your head in the deep fat fryer."

"Hey," says Robbo, gesturing with his cigarette.

Casey wrinkles her nose. "Hi," she says. "Derek, put that out, please."

"I'm almost done," Derek protests, taking a long drag. Casey watches him, and thinks about the time she made out with someone at a bar whose name she doesn't remember, and all she could taste was cigarettes, since the guy had just come in from the smoking patio. It wasn't a very pleasant experience, to say the least. "How was the food? It's okay if it sucks, just as long as my muffins were good."

"You didn't tell me you were gonna put crab in them!" Casey says. "They were really good. Not dry at all."

"Good," Derek says, sounding pleased.

"I like crab," Robbo says. 

"I didn't really understand the pot roast," Casey continues. "The sauces were a little bland. But the fried ice cream was _inspired._ "

"Technically that was Hal's part, but I helped him develop it," Derek says, unashamedly proud. "My recipe, even if I didn't make it tonight."

"So much better than the first few attempts," Casey teases. "My countertop still hasn't recovered."

"I'm gonna pay for that," Derek says. 

"No, you're not."

"Eventually," Derek corrects, stubbing his cigarette out on the small ashtray that's propping the back door open. "Eventually, I will pay for it. I bet it'll really knock your socks off."

"Look at me, not holding my breath," Casey says dryly. 

"I liked the fried ice cream too," Robbo says. 

"Here," Casey says, digging a stick of gum out of her purse, "eat this."

Derek looks at her like she's lost it. "I don't want any gum."

"Just take it, please. Your breath will stink otherwise."

"Why do you care?" Derek asks, but accepts the stick of gum with another wary look. "You're not gonna try and introduce me to some politician you met in there, are you?"

"What? No."

"You met some politicians?" Robbo asks. 

"Well why else would you be wearing a dress like that if you weren't on the prowl for politicians?" Derek asks with a grimace. "Just please tell me you picked a Liberal."

"I am _not_ on the _prowl,_ " Casey says, offended. "Would you just eat the gum, please."

Derek makes a show of unwrapping it and sticking it in his mouth, rolling his eyes the whole time. 

"Thank you," Casey says, mentally doing the math. He needs, what, forty-five seconds or so to chew, until his mouth is suitably refreshed? She's estimating, but she feels good about that number. 

"It's not even bubblegum," Derek complains. 

"You can spit it out if you really hate it," Casey says blandly, trying for casual. "I just don't wanna smell your gross cancer breath all night."

"Jesus _Christ,_ can you believe this, Robbo," Derek says, "'take the gum, Derek,' 'your breath is horrible, Derek,' 'but I don't actually care one way or the other, Derek - '"

"Wow you guys are really, um," says Robbo. 

"Well, spit it out, then," Casey snaps. 

"You're being weird. Did you order tequila?" Derek asks, eyes squinted. 

"No, I didn't order tequila, I'm just going to kiss you and I'm nervous, if you'd ever _shut up_ long enough for me to do it, that is," Casey blurts. 

Derek spits out his gum. "What?"

"Should I leave?" Robbo asks. 

"You heard me," Casey says, heart pounding.

"Don't fuck with me," Derek says. His face is barely even moving as he talks.

"I'm not fucking with you."

"If you're fucking with me, I'm never going to speak to you again," Derek says, and he sounds really, really serious. 

"Um," Robbo says. 

"I'm not," Casey says, taking a step closer. "Derek, I'm not."

"Guys," says Robbo. 

Derek's face twitches, and suddenly Casey can see the edges of what he's pulled over on top of it - his hands are clenched, and so is his jaw, he's standing so straight that his spine might as well be made of steel. Casey takes a deep breath, puts one hand on his beautiful, kooky face, and reaches up with her chin, brushing her lips gently against the side of his mouth. His shoulders bunch up and then release, all at once, and then suddenly she's in his arms like she was always meant to be there, being kissed like she always dreamed about being kissed, and she thinks she might die, maybe, because this feels so fucking good. 

"Okay, so, it was nice meeting you both but I think I'm just gonna go now," says Robbo. 

Casey breaks away, gasping, and clutches at Derek's shoulder as he angles his head away, far enough to talk. "Good job tonight. Don't forget to tip out. Holly will have the cash."

"Uh, thanks," Robbo says. 

"Sorry," Casey squeaks, shuffling along with Derek to the side, to let Robbo squeeze past. Derek kicks the ashtray aside as soon as he's gone, and the door slams shut, plunging them into darkness. 

They stand there for a second, frozen. And then, deliberately, Derek slides his hands down her bare back, and Casey shivers from the top of her head all the way down to her scrunched up toes in her uncomfortable shoes.

"Derek," she says. Her voice is hoarse. 

"Casey, I swear to God if this is some weird breakup thing about Isaac - "

"No!"

"Why'd you wear this dress?" Derek demands, as if she hadn't even spoken. She can't really seem him that well in the dim evening light, but he feels impossibly tall, looming over her, his hands on her back. He smells like pot roast. "Are you even wearing a bra? Jesus Christ."

"It's a backless bra," Casey says, pulling his head down a little with her arms. "It's kind of a contraption. There's tape involved."

"Jesus Christ," Derek repeats, like he's forgotten how to say any other words, and kisses her again. It lasts _quite_ a bit longer this time. 

"I wore it for you," Casey whispers, as their foreheads lean together. She can't actually taste the cigarettes at all, which is a pleasant surprise. "I wore it to get your attention. But not in like, an obvious way. I hope."

Derek just laughs faintly, incredulous and silent. 

"Emily told me you have a thing for backs," Casey says weakly, swallowing. His hands twitch against her bare skin, and she can feel him tensing, like he's about to pull away, so she holds on tighter, sends up a silent prayer, and goes for fucking broke. "I wore it because you're the best friend I've ever had, you make my life fun and interesting and challenging, you always back me up even when you don't agree with me, and I've wanted you for so long that I got sick of not doing anything."

Derek does pull away again, but his hands stay clutched at her waist, the material of her dress bunching up beneath his palms. "You dated Isaac for _two years,_ " he says blankly. 

"Yeah," Casey says, with no defense against that. "I did. But I'm not lying."

Derek laughs again, a more familiar, warmer sound now. Casey's heart throbs in a triple-time beat. "Just crazy."

"Frequently," Casey agrees, pressing a careful kiss to his scruffy cheek. "Derek. It's okay to say no. But only if you really mean it."

" _Definitely_ crazy," Derek says, and pushes her back against the door with one palm. Casey swallows another gasp, barely managing to stay upright before he's kissing her again, pressing into her body with all his sharp angles, knocking his knees against the steel door behind her back. Casey startles herself by moaning out loud, and sends up another silent, thankful prayer - this time, to Emily, who really had been spot on about the setting spray. 

"Derek," Casey mumbles, still half engaged by his mouth and not entirely hating it, "did you ever have sex with Charlotte out here?"

Derek freezes. "No?"

Casey hits him, and he flinches away, laughing. 

"Okay, let's go home," Derek says, tugging her back to her feet from the half-lean she was in, collapsed as she was against the door. "Your place or mine, Case? Keep in mind I make killer pancakes but only with other people's food that I didn't pay for."

"Also you have three roommates and I really don't want them to hear me having an orgasm for the first time," Casey says cheerfully.

Derek stumbles. "Jesus," he says, taking a second to recover. "Are you saying you've never had an orgasm before?"

"I meant with you," Casey says quickly, realizing too late her mistake. 

"Oh my God," Derek says, clearly not believing her. He cups his palms around her face. "Casey, oh my _God._ "

"Quit it," Casey says, her face burning. "Forget I said anything."

"Thank God you finally manned up," Derek says. "Imagine what would've happened if you'd just went home with one of those politicians instead! Dear God, Case, you're _twenty-two years old._ "

"I hate you," Casey says, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. 

 

 

 

 

Three weeks later, hanging upside down on her bed, Derek takes a picture of Casey standing in her bathroom doorway in her underwear, wearing a cute pink cap she found at a thrift store and one of his ridiculous striped shirts that always makes him look like a character from Oliver Twist whenever he wears them in public. 

"You know you don't actually have to be physically upside down to take an upside down picture," Casey says. "There's an editor right there on the phone."

"This is called 'dedication to your craft,' Case," Derek says. "Spread your legs a little bit more so I can see your thigh."

Casey snorts, leaning back against the door jamb, attempting her best 'boudoir' face. She suspects she's not having much success, judging by the gleeful grin Derek sends her. "You promised you wouldn't make fun of me."

"Out loud," Derek clarifies, snapping another photo. "You look very sexy by the way. Like a child star who's just now starting to break her way into more grown up, adult roles."

"Can I take the hat off now," Casey complains.

Derek pulls himself back up with a grin. "If you really want," he says. "C'mere."

Casey crawls into the blankets next to him, resting on her knees next to his shoulder. He leans his head against her stomach as he scrolls, stopping on one in particular that Casey has to admit _is_ in fact very sexy and mysterious, and also makes her legs look super slim and long. Maybe he had a point about taking it upside down. 

"You blocked Dad and Nora though, right?" Derek asks. 

"Like, the second you posted that photo of me with the ice cream, yes," Casey says, rolling her eyes. "Liz has a few other accounts that she thinks I don't know about and I blocked those too, but it's not like she doesn't know my username - "

"Stop fretting," Derek says, "I'm not in it at all, they won't suspect anything. Isaac, on the other hand…" Derek grins, carefully cropping so that Casey's legs, peeking out from under the shirt, are prominently, centrally featured.

"This is terrible," Casey says, grinning. "Ooh, maybe we should take another one with some jewelry. Like one of my long necklaces."

"Maybe in a few weeks," Derek says, adding a filter. "You don't want to post _too_ many of these, or you'll get a _reputation._ "

"You can't even see my face, though," Casey says. 

"Yeah, you looked like you were having a seizure. Trust me, this is better," Derek says. He holds the phone out, with the finished product, angling his head up so he can grin at her. "Et voila, mon chouchou."

"I like it," Casey says with a grin, her stomach jumping like it always does when she does something risky and kinda stupid. "What should the caption be?"

"Just pick an emoji," Derek says, "something girly."

Casey chooses the first flower one that comes up on her recently used line, and hits 'post' before she can second guess. Then she tosses the phone on her nightstand, her pulse racing. "Oh my God, okay, it's done. Holy shit."

"They're gonna run you out of the village with pitchforks now," Derek teases, pulling her back down into the warm rumple of the bed. "A loose woman! Loose morals!"

"Who just won a breakup," Casey says triumphantly, leaning down to rub her nose against his. "Hm. Yes, I definitely feel victorious right about now."

"Me too," Derek says earnestly, straining his neck upwards for a kiss. Casey cradles his head in her hands, leaning down to oblige, her hair falling around them like a tangled, last-night's-hairsprayed curtain. "I think I'm gonna make some kind of cake about this," Derek murmurs thoughtfully, tugging affectionately at her hands and tangling their fingers together. "Zebra cake. Chocolate and white raspberry stripes."

"Sounds good," Casey says dreamily. 

"I'll put it on the menu in your honor. 'Casey-food Cake.'"

"What about pie?" Casey asks, grinning. "If I let you take more pictures of me will you make me into all the other desserts? Casey Pie, Casey Cupcakes - "

"Baby, I'll make you into whatever you want if you take that shirt off," Derek says, laughing. "I've got plenty of ideas."

"Deal," Casey says triumphantly. She's so gonna hold him to that.


End file.
